


A New Sort of Communion.

by Screaming_Lord_Byron, The_Watched_Pot



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Idiots in Love, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), M/M, Teasing, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-19
Updated: 2019-07-19
Packaged: 2020-07-08 06:28:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,034
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19865029
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Screaming_Lord_Byron/pseuds/Screaming_Lord_Byron, https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Watched_Pot/pseuds/The_Watched_Pot
Summary: Crowley set his cup down and leaned back into the corner of the sofa, still watching Aziraphale thoughtfully.“I didn't think your side approved of me spending too much time with you.”Aziraphale glanced up guiltily, then pressed his lips together and shook his head, resolute.“I thought we were on our side.”"So did I." Crowley wasn't able to entirely mask the brief smile that surfaced. “Just checking.”





	A New Sort of Communion.

It had been a long, rather strange day. Aziraphale had been trying to master the smartphone Crowley had given him, which made his reliable old computer look like the sort of thing druids garlanded in oak leaves. 

He’d given up on the tiny, fiddly keyboard (which didn’t respond well to angelic energies in any case, and kept flickering between English, Enochian and Aramaic) and resorted to talking to the thing. Which would be absolutely fine, except it tended to send messages to Crowley before he could edit them, and instead of inviting the demon round for a drink, he’d asked him if he’d be coming ‘home’ this evening, which conveyed an entirely different message when you saw it written down.

He’d finally emptied the shop by pointedly vacuum-cleaning until people got the hint, grateful that these days technology had advanced to the stage where nobody asked how the device was working when it clearly wasn't plugged in. He probably ought to remove the cord, just for the look of the thing.

Now, finally, it was just him and Crowley, and the samovar water heater over the sink was bubbling contentedly away.

Crowley sprawled on the sofa, and removed his glasses, and Aziraphale dimmed the lights a little. They weren't the sort that dimmed, but they did it anyway.

“What are you drinking, and don't say 'alcohol'?”

“Why not?”

“Because you'll get drunk, and you're impossible to talk to when you're drunk." The angel paused, a cup in each hand. "Unless I am, too."

“You don't want to get drunk?”

“Not as part of a daily routine, no. It _is_ possible to have a nice time sober, Crowley.”

“You invited me for a drink." Crowley returned, eyes flicking pointedly towards the wine rack, but the angel remained resolute. "Fine. I’ll have coffee.”

Aziraphale brought it in a _cezve_ : shining copper, with tiny cups and some sort of sweet, dark fruit crowding the tray. “I thought you might like it the old-fashioned way...”

“It's been a long time since I've seen one of these. What's the fruit?”

" _Hurma_. They're Assyrian dates. I've been meaning to get them out for a while, but... you know. Bit of a busy time."

Crowley eyed the dates suspiciously. “Busy with what?”

“Well, all sorts. You know, the last fourteen-hundred years have been quite hectic.” He poured the coffee, which was very dark, and very strong. “Oh try one, my dear. They won't hurt you.”

“I don't think I've ever had a date...” Crowley picked one up and sniffed at it.

“They're sweet. I know, I know. You don't like a lot of sweet things. But they're very good with coffee.” Aziraphale sipped his, as if to prove his point.

Crowley bit into the date, and was pleasantly surprised. It was sweet, but also quite nutty. “It's nicer than oysters..”

“Now drink the coffee, before the sweetness leaves your mouth.” Aziraphale demonstrated.

He did as Aziraphale suggested. “It's an interesting combination...”

Aziraphale looked pleased, and settled into the all-encompassing sofa -– one of Adam’s little ‘additions’. “It'll warm you right up. There's a blanket, somewhere, if you like.”

“I'm warm enough.” Crowley sipped the coffee and settled back, regarding Aziraphale with a steady, unblinking gaze.

Aziraphale looked placidly back, then smiled demurely and lowered his eyes. “Eyelids, my dear. Remember you have them.”

“Whuu.. oh.” He blinked, and continued to gaze at the Angel. “What did you mean, earlier?”

“Earlier?” Aziraphale frowned, reviewing the last few minutes. “About being sober?”

“No. When you sent me a message and asked if I was coming home.” He finished the rest of the scalding hot coffee in one gulp.

“Um... Well, I...” Aziraphale laughed, nervously. “I meant were you coming... here. To... where I live. And. Well. You're always welcome to stay the night, you know. There's-plenty-of-room.” The last part was hustled out like a group of loitering customers.

Crowley set his cup down and leaned back into the corner of the sofa, still watching Aziraphale thoughtfully. “I didn't think your side approved of me spending too much time with you.”

Aziraphale glanced up guiltily, then pressed his lips together and shook his head, resolute. “I thought we were on _our_ side.”

"So did I." Crowley wasn't able to entirely mask the brief smile that surfaced. “Just checking.”

"You don't have to keep testing me, you know. I'm not going to suddenly change my mind and shun you, Crowley. We've been through too much together." 

The demon nodded. 

"I don't know anyone else who understands this world as well as you do, Zi. After all these years."

" _Zi_?" Aziraphale looked aghast. 'Is this one of your clever-phone eke-name things? Because I would _really_ rather you didn't, on the whole." 

It took Crowley a moment to realise what Aziraphale was talking about. "Smart-phone." he corrected. "You don't like 'Zi'? What about 'Zira?" his serpent eyes glinted mischievously "'Azzy'? ...' _Raffi_ '?" 

"Raffi." Aziraphale gave him a look that would have turned a lesser demon into a quivering pile. "If you ever call me 'Raffi', I will... _smite_ you. Really quite vigorously."

Undaunted by the threat, Crowley met and held Aziraphale's withering glare, serpentine eyes wide with fiendish delight. He leaned forward, grinning wickedly.

"'Az-i-fi'?" 

"You're pushing your luck, Crowley." Aziraphale cast around for a suitable threat, but they weren't really his forte at the best of times. "One more, and I'll -- I'll..."

One more? Crowley couldn't resist. "Fay-lee..?" 

That did it. Aziraphale sipped the last of his coffee, then set the cup down on the tray with a tiny, deliberate _clink_. "I'll go and get the bottle of Macallan Valiero Adami I was saving for us for later, and pour it down the sink."

"Nah, you won't." Nonetheless, Crowley's grin faltered a little and he finally eased off.

"No," Aziraphale agreed, "I wouldn't. But I might drink it in front of you." He softened, unable to be _too_ exasperated with the demon. “Besides. ‘Angel’ is fine if four syllables really are too exhausting. I don’t mind that.”

"Just as well, really. I've only been calling you that since the dawn of time..."

Aziraphale waved a hand vaguely. "Well. It sounds different when you say it."

"Does it?"

"Mm. I don’t know how to explain it."

"You never call me 'demon'"

"Because that says nothing about who you are to me. It’s not who you are, it’s what you do."

"I hadn't really thought about it like that."

Aziraphale gave him an affectionate look. "No, you haven’t, have you?"

"You will always be an angel to me. It is both who you are, and what you do." He looked thoughtful.

"To me..." Aziraphale gestured distractedly, trying to shape an idea in the air. "You’re dark, and angry, and fierce, and terribly bitter, sometimes. But you’re also passionate, and hopeful, and -- and gentler than you realise, and you have an imagination large enough for the world to fit inside it."

"Where did all that come from?" Crowley looked genuinely surprised. "I think you have me confused with someone else. I'm not that deep, Angel."

Aziraphale didn’t look away. "I’ve known you since the dawn of time, remember? I _know_ you, you old serpent. The sky is dark, but it’s also deep, and full of stars."

Crowley looked away, uncharacteristically bashful, and momentarily lost for words.

Maybe he’d said too much? Aziraphale patted his hand gently. "I’ll make us some more coffee."

"Wait." Crowley reached for the Angel's hand and held it firmly. "We are..." he hesitated, trying to find the words. "We're both..." His expression danced through several confused emotions before settling on hope. "I think we --" He swallowed. This was going so well. "You were kind to me, do you remember? In the Garden."

"I remember the Garden." Aziraphale looked wistful. It had been beautiful. _Everything_ had. "Was I kind? We talked, and you made me feel better."

"You sheltered me from the rain. The first storm." Crowley gazed down at their joined hands, absent-mindedly stroking Aziraphale's fingers with his thumb. "You were the first person to ever be kind to me."

Aziraphale didn't move. Even to acknowledge the light touch of their hands seemed too risky. Crowley was never more skittish than when his own good qualities were brought to his attention. "It was quite a storm, wasn't it? I thought the rain would never stop. But you'd have been cold, and you've never liked the cold."

"You didn't know that, then." Crowley looked up. "You didn't know _me_ then. I was your enemy, I had just ruined everything as far as you knew, and you were still... kind."

"Because I loved you." It was simpler not to dance around the issue. "I was made that way. And you did what you had to do. How could I blame you for that?"

"It's alluring, this benevolent feeling that you bestow. It's difficult sometimes. My nature tells me to take advantage. I have to fight through that, and I don't always succeed." Crowley's eyes had softened to amber. "I don't understand it, Aziraphale, I crave your company, even when you drive me insane. I want to be near you."

Aziraphale listened to the words. _Tasted_ them, almost. Crowley had never been this open about his feelings. Oh, maybe his anger, which he was happy to toss into the air like flaming confetti, or his amusement, which was usually scaled and gleaming, fang-tipped and aimed directly away from him. But his _need_... 

"You never have to go away. And I wouldn't want you to. I still love you, my dear, but it's become so much _more_ than... angelic background radiation." He huffed a little laugh at the weakness of the metaphor. "It's selfish, and I should feel terribly guilty about that. But it's love, and I don't see how that can ever be bad, if -- if it's wanted..?"

The conversation had become intense, and Crowley floundered a little, uncertain how to respond. After a moment, he raised Aziraphale’s hand to his mouth and pressed the fingers against his lips. It was the softest kiss, followed with a tiny nip of a fang. Only then did he finally meet the angel's gaze.

"I..." For a long moment, Aziraphale just looked at him, open-mouthed, searching his face for meaning. Then his eyes filled with a joyful light, and he pulled Crowley to him, enfolding his lanky form in a fierce, exalted embrace "Oh... oh, my _dearest_."

Crowley smiled, content to fall into the warm embrace. "You are radiant. Like the sun. This is..." he fell silent, as the words failed him once again

"Ineffable?" Aziraphale could feel the infernal nature of his... friend? Soulmate? Was there really a word for what Crowley was to him? But it was just part of Crowley, not what defined him, and it couldn't make a dent in his love. He sighed, revelling in their closeness, and in this new communion between them.

"Ineffable?" Crowley turned to look at Aziraphale, clearly amused. "Ohh, you went there, didn't you?" He started to laugh, glad of the chance to release some of the pent up intensity.

Aziraphale had heard Crowley laugh, many times. He'd never _felt_ it before, and it vibrated through him delightfully. He pressed his face into the demon's shoulder and found that laughter spread by contact was irresistibly infectious.

Aziraphale had his arms around Crowley, his head on his shoulder, and they were laughing like two fools. It was exhilarating, and he felt breathless. Ecstatic, yet simultaneously vulnerable, as though he had exposed the deepest, most hidden part of his psyche to the world. Was this how the angel felt all the time? Crowley regained control and forced himself to slow down.

Eventually, the angel's laughter diminished into fitful giggles, and he sighed, still smiling into the stylish cloth of Crowley's lapel. "Well, it's taken us long enough, hasn't it?"

"Yes." Crowley replied, captivated by Aziraphale's expression. Then he ran the question back through his mind and found that he didn't quite understand it. "What has?"

"This." He gave the demon a gentle squeeze, not wanting to lose a particle of contact. "I've never done _this_ before. All the time we've known one another, and..." He shook his head. "Heaven isn't exactly gung-ho about physical closeness."

"Ohh." Crowley shivered. There had been many times when he had wanted to touch Aziraphale, He had been drawn to him, like a moth towards the moon, for quite a long time, but any contact between them had always been fleeting. The angel was warm, and comforting, and at the same time Crowley could sense the absolute holiness of his celestial being, pulling him towards the light with a crackle of energy that burned like cold flame. A long distant memory of his own holy radiance before the fall taunted him, and was gone before he could hold on to it... "Gung-ho?" He raised a quizzical brow, and looked at Aziraphale with curiously bright eyes.

Aziraphale nodded, moving a little so that he could look more directly at Crowley. "Not keen. Odd, really. You'd think beings imbued with a love of all Creation wouldn't be able to keep their hands off each other." He cleared his throat, embarrassed. "That is to say. Well. They're all right with a brisk handshake. Slap on the back." _Punch in the gut_ , his brain added, and he thought of Sandalphon and tensed. "Not a lot of room for --" _soft_ "-- unprofessional angels."

"Why are Gabriel and Michael still around, then?" Crowley couldn't help himself. The words were out before he had any chance to censor them, but he didn't care. "They all deserve each other, if you ask me. Neither side has any idea about the world that they supposedly influence. You're far better, Angel, than any of them. You have experiences they cannot hope to match and you understand the way the world works."

"As far as they're concerned, I'm... tainted. Not _Fallen_ , not quite, but not really good enough for Heaven's ranks." It was a shameful admission, but he could say it to Crowley. Perhaps only ever to Crowley. "I mean, Gabriel does like his suits, and Michael's far better with technology than I could ever be. They can use the parts of the world that serve them best, but they're not _of_ the world. And they're still..." Aziraphale shook his head, not sure how to put it. "...They're my superiors."

Crowley continued to gaze unblinking as Aziraphale spoke. He heard and understood the words, but his mind was wandering. Thoughts of Gabriel and Michael often had that effect; he found himself imagining various different ways to inconvenience or cause them harm, with gleeful impunity. Once Aziraphale had finished speaking, Crowley leaned across and gently planted a chaste but very deliberate kiss full on his mouth. 

"Well, Angel, " he grinned wickedly, obviously pleased with himself. "If you weren't tainted before, you definitely are now."

Aziraphale made a muffled sound, his eyes widening. As Crowley sat back, smirking, he touched his lips with the tips of his fingers, trying to keep that strange, new closeness for a moment longer. “You... you kissed me...”

"I did, didn't I?" Crowley held Aziraphale's gaze, his eyes gleaming, as he studied the angel's stunned expression. "Well, you weren't ever going to make the first move." 

Aziraphale met that yellow stare with something torn between hope and dreadful apprehension. It had been wondrous. Such a small thing, honestly, and yet it pierced him right through the heart of himself. “But... did you mean it?” Crowley could be... _mischievous_ , his brain supplied helpfully before ‘cruel’ could volunteer itself. _No, not that... He was never cruel to me._

Crowley leaned back a little, giving the angel some space. 

"You said that you loved me." There was the slightest hesitation before the word 'love', as though it was an unfamiliar concept. "I told you that I like being near you. I don't think I have ever wanted to be close to anyone before." He nodded, and treated Aziraphale to his gentlest smile. "I think I did."

The sun came out and Aziraphale's suspicions melted away. _Not a trick_. In any case, it was silly to expect Crowley to feel the same way. He was a demon, and perhaps that meant love was something he didn’t know how to feel. _I could teach him, though..._ If he, Aziraphale, had stumbled -- not Fallen, but found himself beneath Heaven’s standards, couldn’t Crowley be saved, just a little?

“I do love you. You -- you old serpent, I’ve loved you for longer than you know.”

"I walked into a church for you, once..." Crowley's voice was soft, thoughtful. "...if that wasn't love, I don't know what else you would call it..." .

“That’s when I really knew. Humans divide love into so many forms. Love of a brother... of a child. Love of a mate. All distinct, and complex, and so different from Angelic love.” Aziraphale sighed, looking down at his hands. “I love you. I’m _in_ love with you.”

The words felt like salvation. Crowley felt elated, free, and yet simultaneously very exposed. He wasn't entirely devoid of understanding, he'd seen movies, he knew that this situation required some kind of reciprocating action. He caught hold of Aziraphale's hands and pulled them towards him, placing one over his heart, and covering it with his own. "I think I've known for a long time. And I am..." he nodded, "...with you. I love. In love. Yes." it was the best he could do.

Tentatively, Aziraphale leaned in, and kissed him, very softly, on the lips. He could feel Crowley’s heart -- something like a pulsar, so much more than the ephemeral flesh of a human -- thrum beneath his hand. He beamed. Crowley was almost radiating happiness, and he thought he might actually weep with the joy of it. “It’s all right, my dear. You don’t have to say it again. I _know_ , now.”

This felt natural. Comfortable, as though they absolutely belonged with each other, and Crowley briefly wondered why it had taken him so long to act. He enjoyed the closeness, the physical contact of the kiss, then smiled, a contented, joyous, _peaceful_ smile. 

"So... what happens now?" 

**Author's Note:**

> This was based on a bit of roleplay between Screaming_Lord_Byron and myself, so the point of view switches back and forth. Or perhaps it's just omniscient! It's on the sweet side, so if you were hoping for angst, tough.
> 
> Aziraphale remains adamantly resistant to nicknames (an 'eke' name - Old English - 'little name'), especially ones that make him sound like a budget supermarket or industrial disinfectant.
> 
> I'm sure Gabriel would be disgusted by this shameless display of interdominional affection. Gabriel can suck it.


End file.
